Frolich bounded away over the grass, declaring that if it was the bishop, going to her father’s, she could not possibly stay on the mountain for all the cheeses in Nordland.—Erica remained alone, patiently stirring the cream, and hardly heeding the heat of the fire, while planning how the bishop would be told her story, and how he would examine Hund, and perhaps be able to give some news of the pirates, and certainly be ready with his advice. Some degree of hope arose within her as she thought of the esteem in which all Norway held the wisdom and kindness of the bishop of Tronyem: and then again she felt it hard to be absent during the visit of the only person to whom she looked for comfort.
Frolich returned after a long while, to defer her hopes a little. The boats had all drawn to shore on the northern side of the fiord, where, no doubt, the bishop had a visit to pay before proceeding to Erlingsen’s. The cheese-making might yet be done in time, even if Frolich should be sent for home, to see and be seen by the good bishop.
Chapter Twelve.
Peder Abroad.
The day after Erica’s departure to the dairy, Peder was sitting alone in his house, weaving a frail-basket. Sometimes he sighed to think how empty and silent the house appeared to what he had ever known it before. Ulla’s wheel stood in the corner, and was now never to be heard, any more than her feeble, aged voice, which had sung ballads to the last. Erica’s light, active step was gone for the present, and would it ever again be as light and active as it had been? Rolf’s hearty laugh was silent; perhaps for ever. Oddo was an inmate still, but Oddo was much altered of late, and who could wonder? Though the boy was strangely unbelieving about some things, he could not but feel how wonders and misfortunes had crowded upon one another since the night of his defiance of Nipen.
From the hour of Hund’s return, the boy had hardly been heard to speak. All these thoughts were too melancholy for old Peder, and, to break the silence, he began to sing as he wove his basket.
He had nearly got through a ballad of a hundred and five stanzas, when he heard a footstep on the floor.
“Oddo, my boy,” said he, “surely you are in early. Can it be dinner-time yet?”